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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747233">tie up the boat, take off your coat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias'>iphigenias</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Communication, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, Healthy Relationships, M/M, season 4-ish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:24:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747233</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick drops the other shoe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>203</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tie up the boat, take off your coat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i haven't been this productive in years so i just wanna thank patrick brewer for having so many fucking feelings about david rose</p><p>title is from kacey musgraves because i am what? predictable!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes David touches Patrick like he’s made of glass. His hands, so broad and steady on the wheel of his car, or otherwise on Patrick’s hips as he fucks him, even as Patrick is coming apart beneath them, will shake when he brushes Patrick’s shoulder to ask him for a kiss. Patrick’s answer is always yes, but David’s hands ask anyway. Sometimes Patrick takes them in his own. Sometimes he’ll curve his palm around David’s jaw and ask the same question in return. Some days he wants to grab them and pull David to him and never let go.</p><p>By choice, Patrick’s never been a curious guy. He used to hike the trail three blocks from his and Rachel’s place and never knew name of it til the day he packed his bags and left, driving past the little yellow sign he’d never bothered to read. <em>Verity’s Point</em>. Patrick pulled the car over and took a photo on his shitty iPhone then got back in and kept driving and read every sign he drove past until he found one that eased the cramp in his belly, and pulled off the highway towards Schitt’s Creek. The point is—Patrick’s never been one to push, and with Rachel he hadn’t wanted to. Their relationship was like those kintsugi ceramics, only it wasn’t gold holding their cracks together, and if Patrick looked too closely he knew they wouldn’t hold at all.</p><p>Being with David is nothing like that. It’s golden, all the time, and Patrick wants to push. He wants David to want to pull. The world feels dialled up to eleven and he wants everything so much the wanting hurts.</p><p>So Patrick asks, “what’s your favourite colour?” one slow day in the store, and David looks at him over the goat’s hair sweater he’s folding and places it down carefully on top of the folded pile before answering.</p><p>“Blue,” he says, and picks up the next sweater. Patrick smiles into the plants he’s spritzing.</p><p>“Mine’s orange,” he offers, and David huffs like it’s the dumbest thing he’s heard all day, and Patrick feels like kissing him so he does, over the plants, over the sweaters. He touches the shell of David’s ear.</p><p>When they part David is looking at him like he’s been looking at Patrick all day. He folds the sweater with shaking hands and Patrick wants to steady them. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks when David keeps staring and his boyfriend rolls his eyes, makes a face.</p><p>“Just your face,” David replies, petulant, and Patrick moves on to the plants by the register.</p><p>“Burn, David,” he says, and hides his laughter in the gloxinia.</p><p>Another night at Ray’s, Patrick cooks pasta, orecchiette with pesto and seared chicken. David sits at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, wearing a fluffy black sweater Patrick knows is soft to the touch. His nose and the tips of his ears are still a little red from the weekend’s cold snap and there’s a stubborn pimple Patrick won’t let him pop at the crease of his nose. The back of his neck is exposed, a smooth line of muscle that Patrick kissed in the storeroom just before close today. David looks like everything Patrick dreams about.</p><p>“Red or white?” he asks, shifting from the stove to press a kiss into David’s hairline.</p><p>“Hm?” David looks up from Instagram, and Patrick kisses him on the mouth, close-lipped and warm. “Oh, white.”</p><p>Patrick kisses him again and David leans into it, phone forgotten. They ease apart. “What’s your favourite?”</p><p>“I don’t mind a dry chardonnay,” David says slowly, chasing Patrick’s gaze. He turns back to the stove and stirs the pasta. “Let me guess: you like a pink moscato.”</p><p>“I have been known to enjoy a glass or three,” Patrick laughs, putting the lid on. He fetches two glasses from the cabinet above the fridge. “But actually, I like chardonnay too.” David presses his lips together as Patrick pours him a glass; they clink the sides, gently, and David rubs his eyebrow.</p><p>“Good to know,” he says quietly, and helps Patrick drain the pasta.</p><p>They’re in the shop one afternoon when Patrick’s phone buzzes at the cash. “Could you get that, babe?” he calls from the back, and can hear David’s eyeroll over the nickname from here.</p><p>He walks out carrying a fresh box of sweet pea and jasmine diffusers to David fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. “All good?” Patrick asks slowly, setting the box down at the register.</p><p>“Yeah.” Patrick catches David’s hand before it can worry a thread loose. “Um, no? Rachel texted.” Patrick doesn’t let go of David’s hand. He rubs his thumb over the knuckles.</p><p>“Okay,” he replies. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I told her to stop.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“David.”</p><p>“No, I know.” David gives his shoulders a shake. “It’s fine. You told me. I don’t know why I’m all weird.”</p><p>“You’re not weird,” Patrick corrects, squeezing his hand. He steps closer into David’s space, nudging at his chin with his nose until David raises it and they can kiss. He tastes like the cinnamon bun they had at Twyla’s earlier and the new beeswax lip balm David promised he wouldn’t sample and Patrick chases it along the seam of his lips until David’s mouth opens for him, hot and yielding. They kiss until David pulls back. “You’re not weird,” Patrick says again, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Do you want to talk about it?” Do you want to talk about it more, he means. David’s mouth twists.</p><p>“No,” he answers, honest. “I’m sorry. It just caught me off guard.”</p><p>“Nothing to be sorry for,” Patrick says firmly. “I’ll tell her to stop.” When David nods Patrick steps away and looks at his watch. “Wanna cut out early?” he asks. “Egg rolls on me.”  </p><p>David kisses him in answer.</p><p>Patrick starts running with Alexis, and drops David’s coffee order off at the motel before heading home. They drive to a vendor almost two hours away one Monday, David in his white-framed sunglasses and Patrick in <a href="https://www.shopzerouv.com/products/cute-womens-sweet-heart-shape-sunglasses-8182">stupid heart-shaped ones</a> Stevie gave him that he unironically loves to bits. They’re not the only thing. Patrick holds David’s hand over the gearstick and it feels a fucking lot like the future. When they pull into the drive David laughs, slightly strained, and tells Patrick about running away with the Amish. Patrick kisses his palm, open-mouthed.</p><p>“I’m glad you came back,” he says.</p><p>“Yes, well,” David replies. He straightens the collar of Patrick’s shirt. “Guess I’m not used to being the one who bails.”</p><p>They get out of the car and meet the vendor and Patrick pats her slobbery chocolate lab and turns David’s words over in his head. The day he left Rachel it was a perfect seventy-five degrees and she was wearing the jeans Patrick bought her and the perfume from his mom and she’d cried, and Patrick didn’t, and it was so fucking painless he’d hated himself. He’d said, “keep the ring,” and she’d thrown it at his head, where it bounced off his temple and landed somewhere on the carpet. He hadn’t looked. He hadn’t been looking for a long time, he thinks, and he can’t stop looking at David.</p><p>They drive home listening to Shania Twain and David lets Patrick sing along and Patrick kisses him at the final stop sign before town. The Roses are out, and the vacancy sign flickers comfortingly as Patrick follows David inside the motel. David presses Patrick into the mattress fully clothed and traces a thumb along the bone beneath his eye. Patrick looks and looks. He eases David into sitting and unlaces his shoes, placing one on the bed in between them. David wrinkles his nose and fuck, Patrick loves him.</p><p>“Okay,” David blinks, and Patrick squeezes his knee.</p><p>“It’s the other shoe,” he replies quietly, and David blinks again. Patrick slides his hand from David’s knee to his elbow to his neck to his hair and slots their foreheads together like they’ve fit in place for years. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and closes his eyes, because he would know the shape of David in the dark. The curves and edges. The push and pull.</p><p>“Did you have to put it on the bed, though?” David asks.</p><p>“Just kiss me, David,” Patrick says, and David does. His hands are steady all over.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>@<a href="https://twitter.com/maryoIivers">maryoIivers</a> on twitter</p></blockquote></div></div>
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